


Stab wound

by Blackness



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring John, Fluff, Injury, wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:06:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackness/pseuds/Blackness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been injured during a case. Returning home, his confused and drowsy thoughts while getting stitched up by John.<br/>Fluff included</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stab wound

John was gone we he came back from the case in the middle of the night. He probably went on a date with some woman he knew from god knows where and decided to spent the night with her. Or something like this. It was not like it mattered anyway.

 

In fact, Sherlock found himself glad that his flat mate was not home as he dragged exhausted limps up the stairs and flopped down on the couch. His shoulder was still oozing blood from the knife one of his opponents had put in it. He really should stop hunting whole groups of criminals in dirty alleys in the middle of the night. Sherlock winced as he pulled his blood soaked button up away from the wound to get a better look. It did not look too bad, definitely not life threating, although it was an ugly wound, bleeding a lot and definitely in the need of stitches. 

 

He made his way to the bathroom slowly, knowing the wound needed a cleanup and a fresh bandage. At least until John could patch him up properly. Sherlock of course noticed the little blood spackles he left on the floor, but he was simply too exhausted to care. Being on a case for days on end, not eating or sleeping and then fighting a bunch of criminals took it’s toll on him.

 

Reaching the bathroom he started with searching for anything and everything able to clean up the wound. Of course they had run out of fresh bandages the week prior, which left him with nothing but some disinfectant. Ok, this could not get any worse.

 

He tried to decide what to do now. Either waiting for John or calling him home. Would call-ing him to get him to go home rude? Not really right? Hospital was no option after all. Not for Sherlock Holmes. Same goes for Mycroft.

 

The decision was taken from him by the simple (and in his opinion pathetic) act of passing out. His vision began to tunnel and black dots started to dance in front of his eyes until there was nothing left but blackness: He vaguely recalled hitting the cold tile floor before he felt his consciousness shatter.

 

~~~~ 

 

“…-lock?! Sherlock can you hear me?!”

 

Sherlock just groaned, trying to move away from the hand slapping his face, probably in order to wake him up. Why the hell was he so tired?

 

“Sherlock, come on, you have to wake up for me!”

 

“…ohn…”

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s me. Come on, open these eyes of yours for me. That’s it.” 

 

He worked his eyes open with some effort. His vision blurred at first but began to clear soon and Johns face came into focus, behind him the white ceiling of their bathroom. Oh yeah, he was searching for something to bandage the stab wound on his shoulder earlier. How much earlier? Had John noticed the wound yet? Of course he had. He was a doctor after all and the big red blood stain on the shirt that still hung loosely around his shoulder was probably a good indicator.

 

“What happened to you? Wait, don’t speak, have some water first.”

 

A glass was raised to his mouth, cool water tipped at his lips and he swallowed greedily. When was the last time he had something to drink? That did not work out combined with the blood loss. He should know that by now. The glass was taken from him the next moment and an expectant look was instead settled on him. Sherlock realized drowsily that he was probably supposed to say something now. Or rather explain his pitiful state.

 

“What the hell happened to you Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Had he not explained just now? He thought he had. So he did not explain but spaced out. Very intelligent Sherlock, really. He settle for the shortest possible answer.

 

“Stab wound.”

 

That was all, he did not have to say anything else, because his words immediately switched John into doctor mode. He helped Sherlock up and to the couch. The first try of going vertical nearly send them both right back on the floor again, as Sherlock went white as a sheet just from standing up. They made their way to the couch eventually. Once settle John left for a minute, returning with his bag and a serious look written on his face.

 

“I need to clean that up. It will hurt, just so you know, we ran out of pain killers last week.”

 

Sherlock winced in pain once the disinfectant made contact with his torn flesh, but willed himself to stay still. The sting remained though, making his eyes water against his best tries. Johns gaze landed on his face again. Sherlock knew he saw the tears.

 

“Sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Sherlock noticed his voice being unusual quiet and strained. He had expected the sting, had steeled himself beforehand, knowing it would hurt.

 

He was not prepared to the intensity of the pain that came next though. The sting was nothing compared to the pull of stitches through his skin. He gasped and grabbed the cushions harder, knuckles turning white. John continued working in silence efficiently.

 

By the end of the procedure Sherlock was throwing up into a trashcan which magically ap-peared in front of him. He vaguely registered John sitting with him, rubbing soothing circles on his back, murmuring softly into his ear. His muscles clenched painfully making his shoulder scream in protest and his eyes watery again. The pain seemed much worse than back in the dirty alley there they had put the knife into him.

 

“It’s ok Sherlock… it’s ok, you’re ok.”

 

He felt John carding his hand through his hair as he finally leaned back, breathing hard, when nothing was left to come up. Relaxing slightly he felt the pain in his shoulder retreat to a steady throbbing deep within the wound. Sherlock instinctively leaned into the touch John offered and even went so far as to press himself alongside John. The other body was so com-forting and warm and cozy…

 

They sat in silence for a while. John was giving him the chance to regain some strength. Sher-lock was about to fall asleep when he heard John speak to him again.

 

“Hey, you think you can make it to the bedroom? It’ll be a lot more comfy there.”

 

Sherlock managed to nod his head slightly in agreement. He was beyond exhausted and did not dare to use his voice at that moment, but bed sounded like heaven right now and he was willing to take the effort and pain of going there.

 

With Johns help and several breaks to catch his breath he was finally dropped into the soft covers of his bed. As his eyes dropped he felt himself being covered with a blanket. 

 

John was about to leave the room when Sherlock called after him.

 

“John… stay?”

 

Only seconds later he felt a smaller body wrapping securely around him. He felt save, com-forted, warm. Sherlock fell asleep.

 

~ Fin ~


End file.
